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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23021170">Dancing in the Dark</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafiametta/pseuds/lafiametta'>lafiametta</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Catholic Schools, Crushes, Edward being adorably awkward, Just imagine Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark playing over the entirety of this fic, M/M, Sexual Tension, chaperoning, high school dance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:08:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,256</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23021170</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafiametta/pseuds/lafiametta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There were six of them tonight to chaperone, not sufficient to properly supervise all the St. Erebus boys and their dates from Sacred Heart, but enough of an adult presence to keep any serious rule violation to a minimum. They had stationed themselves along the perimeter of the gym: Edward near the main entrance (a position that had included the unfortunate task of subtly sniffing everyone who came in the door, alert for the slightest whiff of alcohol) with Sophia and Graham on the other side of the court. Charles was keeping to the bleachers, Alexander was over by the DJ, leaving the sixth chaperone to oversee the refreshments. </p><p>The new English teacher, Tom Jopson.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>53</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>The Terror Bingo (2019)</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dancing in the Dark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For theterrorbingo fill: "chaperone"</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The overhead lights in the gym had been shut off, and in the partial darkness it was easier to mistake the space for somewhere else, somewhere slightly dreamy and unfamiliar, and less like the place where Coach Tozer made the boys run suicides every morning for twenty minutes straight. </p><p>In the place of bright fluorescents, the student decorating committee had draped the walls and the bleachers with strands of blue and white holiday lights, along with garlands of silver tinsel and cut-out paper snowflakes. Rows of clear plastic icicles hung from the edge of the DJ table. It wasn’t the North Pole by any stretch of the imagination, but all in all, it was a decent effort to keep with the theme for this year’s semi-formal: Winter Wonderland.</p><p>Edward tugged ineffectually at his tie, managing to loosen it only a touch. The temperature outside was barely above freezing, but inside, the room was definitely growing warmer, mostly due to the hundred or so adolescent bodies clumped together in the center of the dance floor. He thought about taking his jacket off, but the idea made him feel oddly self-conscious, plus what was he supposed to do with it after that – just carry it around? He quickly scanned the room: as far as he could tell, the rest of the other faculty chaperones still had their jackets on – except for Sophia Cracroft, who was wearing a dress and long-sleeved cardigan. As he turned his gaze, Edward tried not to let it linger too long at the single figure standing just beside the refreshment table, although he couldn’t help but pause to admire that particular pair of slim cut trousers and the way the twinkling lights were picking up the shine in his dark hair. </p><p>There were six of them tonight to chaperone, not sufficient to properly supervise all the St. Erebus boys and their dates from Sacred Heart, but enough of an adult presence to keep any serious rule violation to a minimum. They had stationed themselves along the perimeter of the gym: Edward near the main entrance (a position that had included the unfortunate task of subtly sniffing everyone who came in the door, alert for the slightest whiff of alcohol) with Sophia and Graham on the other side of the court. Charles was keeping to the bleachers, Alexander was over by the DJ, leaving the sixth chaperone to oversee the refreshments. </p><p>The new English teacher, Tom Jopson. </p><p>As one of the newest members of the faculty, Tom had apparently drawn the short straw and ended up with dance chaperoning as his official duty for the year, widely acknowledged to be the worst of the lot. (Most of the St. Erebus teachers were eager to get away from campus the moment the last bell rang on Friday and had no intention of giving up any part of their weekend to supervise the antics of a bunch of sweaty, hormonal teenage boys and their less sweaty but equally hormonal dates.) Overall, he didn’t know all that much about Tom, only that he was single (that tidbit was from Sophia, who always had all the gossip), that he taught British Lit as well as a popular poetry seminar, and that he had a brilliant dimpled smile that surely had made grown men cry. Edward wanted to know more, though. He wanted to know a lot more. </p><p>In fact, his original plan for tonight had been to see if he could find a moment to talk to Tom. They had spoken before, of course, but only as part of discussion groups in faculty meetings or a brief acknowledgement as they refilled their coffee in the crowded teachers’ lounge. But here – in the semi-darkness of the decorated gym – the situation could be different: there might be time to actually talk, to maybe laugh a little, to get to know each other better. There might even be a chance that brilliant smile would get flashed his way. </p><p>Or at least there might be if he wasn’t such a coward, if he actually was able to grow a pair and walk over and attempt to make conversation.</p><p>Edward could have kicked himself for how he was squandering what was, obviously, the perfect opportunity to interact with Tom. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go over and talk to him – god, he really, really did – but he just didn’t know how to begin, how to find the right thing to say that would seem effortlessly charming and cool, guaranteed to spark Tom’s interest. The problem, of course, was that he wasn’t all that charming or cool. He prided himself on having a semi-decent sense of humor, but he taught algebra to fifteen-year-old boys, for crying out loud – he was never going to win a personality contest. </p><p>Tom, on the other hand, with his pale green eyes and dog-eared poetry books tucked nonchalantly under his arm, seemed altogether fascinating and otherworldly, like a creature outside the realm of soggy cafeteria lunches and soccer cleats. He had only been at St. Erebus a few months, but the students and faculty had already taken a shine to him, including Francis Crozier, the long-standing chair of the English department, who appeared to nearly be on the verge of adopting him. </p><p>Edward had to be delusional to think that he even stood a chance. </p><p>Purely out of wishful thinking, he glanced over again at the refreshment table, only to be filled with confusion by what he saw – or rather, what he didn’t see, as the area was now entirely unattended. </p><p>A throat cleared just beyond his right shoulder. “Lemonade?”</p><p>Startled, he turned in the direction of the voice, catching sight all at once of a ridiculously handsome – <em> and ridiculously close </em> – Tom Jopson, who was clutching a clear plastic cup of unnaturally yellow lemonade and extending it halfway towards Edward. </p><p>Edward nodded, keeping his expression neutral even as he let his eyes rake along Tom’s upper half, at his fashionably thin tie and the way his suit jacket fit perfectly along his shoulders, at the errant length of dark hair that fell across his forehead. His rational mind could offer no explanation as to why Tom was suddenly there, standing right next to him, but at this point, he was simply going to thank whatever minor deities might have aided in making it happen. </p><p>“Thanks,” he said, taking the cup from Tom’s outstretched hand. “It’s warm in here,” he added, and then cringed a little for saying something so obvious and uninteresting.</p><p>“Yeah,” Tom murmured in agreement and after a moment’s silence turned his gaze out across the gyrating teenage bodies on the dance floor. “How do you think it’s going so far?”</p><p>Edward took a sip of the lemonade, the sour, vaguely chemical taste lapping at his taste buds. “I only had to Breathalyze two of them, and they both passed, so... good, I’d say.”</p><p>Tom laughed, and Edward felt the warm victory of it in the center of his chest. He decided to press his luck a little further. </p><p>“As long as everyone stays sober and unimpregnated by eleven,” he added, “it’ll just be a matter of getting them out the door and locking up for the night. The students will come back tomorrow to take down the decorations and clean everything up. At least they better. You know how Tozer gets when he can’t see his own reflection in the floor.”</p><p>Tom’s pale gaze swiveled back towards him, leaving Edward slightly dazed. A warm, curious smile played out across his lips. </p><p>“Do you chaperone most of the dances? This is my first, so I’d appreciate any tips you’ve got.”</p><p>“Oh, no,” Edward stammered, trying to figure out how best to explain it. The situation was complicated, and he didn't really need to share every detail. “I’m, uh... I'm just filling in tonight. My friend George – Hodgson, teaches instrumental music – he had something come up, so I told him I could cover for him. Normally, my regular duty is overseeing after-school detention.”</p><p>“That sounds... less than enjoyable.”</p><p>Edward shrugged. “It’s not so bad. Most times I can get some grading done, especially once they know I’m not going to put up with any bullshit.”</p><p>“I bet you run a tight ship, Mr. Little,” Tom said with a tiny laugh, the hint of dimples just emerging beyond the corners of his mouth.  </p><p>Edward swallowed tightly, feeling only the sensation of heat as it began to migrate up his chest and into his face, no doubt turning his cheeks an unmistakable and embarrassing shade of pink. Even so, excitement thrummed in his veins, with the realization that he was, at that moment, <em> bantering </em> with Tom, and that – miracles of miracles – he didn’t seem to be doing a half-bad job at it.</p><p>“Have you been talking to Neil Hickey or something?” he joked. “It’s a wonder that kid hasn’t been expelled.”</p><p>“You know, I found Neil to be a particularly insightful student of Romantic poetry.” Tom shrugged, raising a playful eyebrow. “That is, until I realized his three-page analysis of Byron consisted mostly of shamelessly-cribbed paragraphs from SparkNotes.”</p><p>“I can only hope you reported it to Headmaster Franklin.”</p><p>Tom shook his head. “I just scared him a bit – told him I’d failed better students than him, and that I missed the days of corporal punishment where it’d just be him, the headmaster, and the wooden paddle off the headmaster’s wall.”</p><p>Edward chuckled, amused – and strangely excited – by the idea of the angelic Mr. Jopson looking on as Neil Hickey was met with a few well-deserved smacks across his posterior. </p><p>“Think it’ll do any good?”</p><p>“Knowing Neil?” Tom smirked. “Not a chance.” </p><p>He grinned, all beautifully boyish and wide, and Edward could feel the blood from his head suddenly rushing away in its wake. </p><p>“So, um,” Edward began, as he took another sip of lemonade and searched for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like the tongue-tied idiot he knew he was presently being, “how are you liking St. Erebus so far? Hopefully, you’re not finding it too strict.”</p><p>“It’s not too bad. I was at a boarding school before, and that could get a bit intense, you know? There’s really no escape from them. It was hard to have anything resembling a private life, not if I didn’t want most of the student body to know all about it by the next morning.”</p><p>Edward nodded, wondering exactly what Tom meant by <em> private life </em> and hoping that it meant something more than just attending the occasional after-work happy hour. </p><p>“Everyone here has been great, though,” Tom added. “And I’ve enjoyed getting to know the boys. Although the morning church thing is weird.”</p><p>Edward’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “You mean chapel?” </p><p>Every morning at eight, all the St. Erebus students and faculty assembled for worship, which normally consisted of some short words of guidance from Headmaster Franklin (generally borrowed from whatever uplifting self-help book was currently gracing the desk in his office), followed by a relatively interminable homily from Father Irving. Edward tended to use it to make his grocery lists or to think up some particularly punishing questions for his upcoming algebra tests. There were also times, of course, when he let his eyes drift over the large group, looking for one head of dark hair in particular.</p><p>“I’m not sure how you all do it every day. There’s a reason I’m no longer a regular church-goer.” Tom pressed his lips together and let out a small huff of amusement. “I mean, there are <em> a lot </em>of reasons for that… but a mandatory eight AM service isn’t doing much to bring me back into the fold.”</p><p>“I try to find a seat behind one of the big pillars,” Edward offered, “that way no one can really tell if my eyes just happen to accidentally close.” </p><p>“Oh my god, did you see Stanley the other morning?” Tom leaned in, his voice lowering conspiratorially. Edward caught a hint of aftershave, something deliciously warm and woodsy, and it took most of the willpower he had not to press his face up against the inviting line of Tom’s jaw. “I think <em> he </em> actually started snoring!”</p><p>“Wait a second,” Edward said, once he had fully recovered. “Did you just compare me to Stephen Stanley? The one the advanced biology students all secretly refer to as He Who Must Not Be Named? Now I’m hurt.” He followed his words with a slightly exaggerated pout, just to make it clear he was being less than serious. </p><p>Tom laughed as his pale green eyes narrowed slightly, the warmth of a hundred miniature holiday lights swimming reflectively in their depths. Was it just Edward’s fevered imagination or did he seem to actually be blushing? </p><p>“I wouldn’t dream of it… Mr. Little,” he murmured, one dark brow lifting in a knowing glance as Edward’s heart dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees. </p><p>Neither of them spoke, but in the darkness, with only the bass-heavy sounds of the music spilling off the dance floor, Edward began to wonder if he had somehow lucked out and managed to stumble right into his own personal fantasy. The moment spun on, beyond the point when they both should have looked away, the air between them turning hushed and still even as it seemed to vibrate with each breath Edward took. He was almost on the verge of saying something – the words caught in the tight confines of his throat – when he noticed a figure wandering over towards them from the bleachers. </p><p>Instinctively, Edward straightened up, pulling his gaze away from Tom – as if, he realized with a belated sense of shame, the two of them had been caught doing something wrong.</p><p>“How’s it going?” Charles asked as he strolled up alongside them. Without waiting for a reply, he continued. “I’m about to die, I’m so bored over there.” He quickly glanced up at the clock wired into the wall above the doors and sighed. “We have, what, another two hours? Shit.”</p><p>After an awkward moment of no one saying anything, he finally looked over at Edward with a sudden glint of awareness, as if only just realizing he was there. </p><p>“So I guess you finally got George to swap duties with you, huh?” Charles smirked, eyebrows raised in a gesture of self-satisfied amusement, just as Edward felt the floor begin to give out from underneath him. “He said you sounded really desperate to chaperone tonight!”</p><p>Edward opened his mouth to respond, but for some godawful reason nothing came out, and all he could do was just stand there, completely frozen, waiting for the train wreck to inevitably unfold. He hadn’t even considered the possibility that George would talk, which, in hindsight, was incredibly stupid – because <em> of course </em> George would talk, being arguably the most irrepressible chatterbox of the entire faculty. </p><p>“Wait,” Tom asked as he turned towards Edward, confusion clouding over those handsome features, “I thought you said you were just filling in.” </p><p>Charles chuckled, and then clasped Edward roughly on the back. “The way George told it, he made it seem like Ed here practically cornered him in the teachers' lounge looking for a chance to take over his chaperoning duty.” He blithely shrugged his shoulders, turning to look once more at Edward. “Personally, I don’t get it. Why would anyone want to be here who didn’t have to be?”  </p><p>“Right,” Tom said softly, the expression on his face unreadable. </p><p>Another long pause followed, interrupted only when Charles caught sight of the plastic cup still clasped in Edward’s hand. “Well,” he said, “you all aren’t being any fun. I think I’m gonna go get something to drink.” And with that he walked away, no doubt to find another person whose night he could completely ruin. </p><p>Edward wished he could walk away, too. He wished he could run, or sprint, or – failing that – just have the gym floor open up and swallow him whole. Anything would be better than standing there in the quiet next to Tom, knowing that he could see Edward for what he really was: a liar and a creep, someone who was capable of engineering a whole evening’s worth of work for himself for no real reason – except, of course, the most obvious one. </p><p>He couldn’t bear to look at Tom, not anymore, so instead he stared down at the ground, feeling his face burn with embarrassment as he focused on the dull glow of blue and white lights against the scuff of the hardwood floors.</p><p>“So why did you want to chaperone tonight?” Tom finally asked, his voice edged with uncertainty. “Did– did it have something to do with me?”</p><p>Edward swallowed tight and with a shaky breath, he nodded. He could have denied it, he supposed, tried to offer some half-assed explanation of what he was doing here, or tried to paint Charles as the jerk who liked to make up stories about other people just for fun. But there was something in him that wanted Tom to know the truth. He owed him that much, at least. </p><p>He dared a glance up, bracing himself for what would certainly be written all over Tom’s face. </p><p>It didn’t make any sense. </p><p>Those pale green eyes were looking at him, not with pity or disappointment, but widely, openly, conveying an expression of curiosity and warm appraisal. Tom pressed his lips together, letting the corner of his mouth curl upwards with the hint of an indulgent smile. </p><p>“You did all that just to talk to me?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Edward said as he nodded again, completely adrift in that endless pale sea, no longer possessing even the slightest instinct for self-preservation. </p><p>“That’s... kind of impressive.” </p><p>The smile that had been playing on Tom’s lips began to widen, his pink cheeks rounding with it as he let out a laugh, that his already handsome face practically lighting up from within. Edward could barely breathe, but even so he felt a grin tugging at his own mouth, a mirror image of Tom’s. He still didn’t totally understand what was happening, but that didn’t seem to matter very much, not with the way Tom was looking at him, flickers of heat sparking in that unguarded gaze. </p><p>Over the DJ’s speakers, a slow song faded in over the tail end of a louder one. As if by instinct, pairs of students slowly broke apart from the clusters on the dance floor, the Sacred Heart girls looping their bare arms over their dates’ shoulders. </p><p>“You know, I’d ask you to dance,” Tom murmured, nodding his head in the direction of the music, “but I think that’d start <em>all kinds</em> of gossip.” He leaned slightly closer, his voice dropping low. “But how about a drink, once we finish up here? Maybe we can get you something a little stronger than lemonade.”</p><p>Edward managed an unsteady breath before replying, “Yeah, I’d like that.”</p><p>They stood there in expectant silence, watching the couples as they swayed back and forth in each other's arms. Edward's heart was already full to bursting with the prospect of what the rest of the evening might bring, but still, as he looked across the darkened gym, he couldn’t help but imagine it: Tom extending his hand and pulling Edward towards the dance floor, the two of them slowly moving in sync to the beat, their bodies clasped and intertwined, the lights of a thousand Winter Wonderland stars shining just for them.</p>
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